


Relaxation (What a Sensation)

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Solar's 007 Fest 2019 [22]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, i mean pretty much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 12:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Bond wants to take Q on holiday and help him relax. Q decides to let him.





	Relaxation (What a Sensation)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 22! Porn! I guess! Written to fill "Blankets" on the [Fluff Prompt Table](https://mi6cafe.wordpress.com/007-fest/007-fest-2019-prompt-tables/) and Anon Prompt 40 on the [MI6 Cafe Prompt Exchange](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1LwtIoqppLgPC3D0bJ5HF7ZcIJEnNgGmQcm21977FGJc/edit?pli=1#gid=628702862): "Christmas fic: Q gets turned on by watching Bond build and light the fire in the fireplace"
> 
> I'm not sure if I filled it exactly, but an attempt was made. There's definitely sex in front of the fireplace, which that prompt sounds like a call for, so at least there's that. Lemme know if you catch any typos!

The cabin was cozy. Not even the type of cozy where it was actually just bloody tiny and you were trying to make it sound more appealing, but the type where there was a soft king bed with a quilted duvet, and clean and colorful throw rugs, and a nice fireplace with just enough room to comfortably lounge in front of. There were even frosty windowpanes with sweet little curtains to pull across.

Really, the whole thing looked like it had been plucked straight from a Christmas card, and Q might have been suspicious of how Bond had found it, much less acquired it for them to stay in for Christmas, but Q was on holiday; he had decided to take a break from being suspicious of things.

In fact, Bond had insisted he take a break from everything.

“You’ve been working too hard,” Bond had said when he’d brought up the idea of going away for the holiday. “You need to relax.”

As Q had just come off of a 20-hour work day and was inhaling the pizza Bond had ordered for them, it had been difficult to argue the point (for a number of reasons), and so to the cabin Q had been more or less willingly whisked away the morning of December 24th.

Since arriving, Bond had insisted Q do nothing more strenuous than unpack his suitcase. Q might have objected, but Bond had also gone out of his way to be particularly distracting, and for once Q just allowed himself to be distracted.

There had been the carrying in of luggage—sans coat, of course, so Q could admire the way Bond’s arms flexed beneath his Henley shirt—and the fact that Bond had dressed down in the first place, that was certainly worth being distracted over. Then there had been the afternoon massage that had actually ended with a nap, rather than sex – though, Q had woken up feeling rested and more relaxed than he had in ages, so he supposed Bond knew what he was about. There had then been the chopping of firewood, conveniently in front of the window Q had perched himself in, also sans coat so Q could admire the way his everything flexed (it was a lovely view, but Q still made a point to toss his jacket at him when he came back inside, and inform him in no uncertain terms that if he caught a cold on this trip, Q would _not_ play nursemaid).

After the firewood, there had been the cooking of dinner—made to perfection, of course—and then Bond had assigned Q the task of creating a nice nest of blankets for them on the floor in front of the fireplace while Bond got the fire going.

Q might have been offended, but for two things: first, Bond was utter shite at making blanket nests, and they were much better off with Q doing it; second, Q knew _exactly_ what Bond was doing.

Ordinarily, Bond and Q were equal partners, both experts in their field, both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, if with strengths and weaknesses in different areas – and Bond wouldn’t want it any other way (nor would Q), but occasionally, the man got the itch to _provide._

He got the itch to wrap Q up and bring him things and feed him and fuck him until he was as sated and happy and relaxed as Bond seemed to think he should be; it seemed to happen most when Q was stressed and overworked, but Q rarely allowed more than half a day of doting.

Now, though – Q watched as Bond built the fire up in the grate with practiced and efficient movements (though no one really needed to wave their arse around that much when starting a fire) and wondered if he shouldn’t just let Bond’s plan work. After all, what was so bad about being cared for once in a while?

Maybe what he wanted was to let Bond tote things around and show off and flex for Q, and to let Bond feed him wonderful meals and give him massages.

Maybe what he wanted was to let Bond lay him down on this nest of blankets (expertly crafted, if Q did say so himself) and make love to him in front of the fireplace like he was sure Bond planned to do once he’d actually got the fire going.

Yes, Q decided as he stretched out on the blankets and watched Bond’s sure motions; he liked the sound of that quite a lot.

He wondered what Bond had in mind for the evening.

Would he go with the theme of the trip and have Q on his hands and knees and take him from behind? Not a favored position, but Q was feeling open to suggestion.

Perhaps Bond would be the one to lay down, and would let Q ride him however he liked; that was much higher on Q’s usual “yes, please” list, but it also sounded like more work than Bond was planning on letting Q do tonight. Maybe if they did it slowly, rocking against each other like their lazy mornings off, not so much kissing as breathing one another in–

“Starting without me?” Bond’s voice started Q from his thoughts, and he realized that he’d been rubbing himself languidly through the flannel pajama bottoms he’d put on as soon as it had become apparent he wouldn’t be setting foot outside for the rest of the day.

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t been winding me up all day,” Q replied, fighting down a blush as he stilled his hand but didn’t move it. “How long does it take you to build a fire, anyway?”

“Not as long as you think. You’re just impatient,” Bond teased.

“Well you could just come join me,” Q offered, nodding to the stretch of floor beside him.

Bond leaned down to peck Q on the cheek, but stood again instead of settling down on the blankets. “In a moment.”

Q sighed as Bond disappeared from his line of sight. The sound of the bathroom sink running shushed through the quiet cabin before shutting off again, and Bond returned to Q after a few moments more, straddling him where he laid atop the blankets and leaning down to kiss him properly.

Q pressed up to meet him, returning the kiss enthusiastically and reveling in all the places he could feel Bond against him. Bond hummed as Q’s fingertips wiggled up beneath his shirt, offering encouragement as Q took a moment to just stroke the soft skin there before pushing up further and rucking the shirt up under Bond’s arms until they broke apart to remove it entirely.

Rather than falling back into a kiss, Bond dipped down to push Q’s shirt up and lavish attention on the skin revealed. There was the scrape of teeth over his sternum and the lave of a tongue over one nipple, then kisses down his belly in a purposeful line that didn’t stop at the hem of his pajama bottoms, but continued as Bond dragged them slowly out of the way.

When Bond latched onto the delicate stretch of skin over Q’s hip, nipping and sucking and worrying a bruise to the surface, Q whined and nearly got tangled in the t-shirt he was attempting to pull over his head. After some struggle, Q tossed the shirt in a direction he hoped would keep it from landing on the fire and immediately reached to cup the back of Bond’s head and rub at the soft, short hair there.

“Just like this?” Q breathed, voice catching for a moment when Bond pulled his bottoms down enough to bare his cock to the warm air of the cabin. “Are you going to fuck me just like this? Hold me down on the blankets in front of the fire and – _ah!”_

Q broke off as Bond wrapped his lips around the head of Q’s cock, sucking hard for a moment and tonguing the slit before pulling back. “Not yet,” Bond said, and though he was trying to sound casual, his voice was already going rough. Q could see the dark lust blowing his pupils wide when he looked down to meet Bond’s gaze and was quick to obey when Bond patted his hip and ordered him to turn over.

The pajama bottoms were done away with in short order and then Bond’s hands were sliding up the backs of Q’s thighs, slow and steady until he was palming Q’s arse, kneading and testing the bounce of it until Q was shaking his head and huffing a laugh into the crook of his arm. Only then did Bond’s thumbs dip inward, brushing Q’s hole and spreading his cheeks wide.

For a moment, Q tensed and wriggled against the blanket beneath him, anticipatory and exposed and uncertain of what to expect when both of Bond’s hands were already accounted for. The brush of Bond’s breath against the tender skin behind his balls was all the warning Q got before Bond dragged his tongue up, wet and wide, from bollocks to tailbone, and Q cried out in pleasured surprise.

Oh, _this._

Rimming wasn’t something Q had tried from either end until taking up with Bond, but hell if Bond hadn’t managed to convince him of its merits – and Q _had_ made good use of the cabin’s surprisingly nice shower once they’d arrived. He groaned and twitched his hips back when Bond dragged the flat of his tongue directly over his hole.

“Oh, fuck _me,”_ Q sighed, coming close to a whine as Bond set to his task with enthusiasm, teasing Q with slick kisses and the gentle probe of his tongue.

Q clutched at the pillows by his head, dug his fingers into the down as Bond licked him open, and moaned outright at the first full press of Bond’s tongue into his hole. Nearly instinctively, he tried put his knees under himself, attempting to give Bond more room to work while pushing his arse out further, and Bond pulled back with a chuckle.

“Stop wriggling so much,” he reprimanded, though there was nothing but breathless fondness and amusement in his voice.

“Can’t,” Q replied tartly, managing to toss a hazy grin over his shoulder. “Feels too good.”

Bond hummed, rubbing his thumbs in little circles high on the insides of Q’s thighs, which did very little to actually calm Q, but he did his best to settle back down anyway.

“Good,” Bond purred, leaning back in to nip little biting kisses up Q’s thigh, up one arse cheek, and then pressing his tongue back to Q’s hole.

_“Ah,”_ Q gasped with the slick slide of Bond’s tongue pushing into him, licking him wide and wet as he held Q’s hips still.

Q was so thoroughly distracted with the steady jabs of Bond’s tongue that the intrusion of a finger was startling; he hadn’t even noticed Bond’s hand leaving his hip. Groaning, Q pushed back for more, for a wider stretch, and sighed in frustration when the finger disappeared.

“James…” Q huffed, attempting to get back up on his elbows so he could glare over his shoulder when the finger returned, gliding smooth with lube Bond must have brought from the bathroom before they got started.

One figure became two in short order, spreading Q wide while Bond licked up and around them, laving at Q’s rim while Q cried out above him. It was so much noisier than Q usually got, but whether it was the freedom of being on holiday or the release of some unacknowledged inhibitions, he found himself nearly keening as Bond worked in a third finger and crooked them to find Q’s prostate unerringly.

“Are you – _fuck!”_ Q shouted when Bond spread his fingers, giving Q a hint of that aching stretch he was craving.

“Am I what, Q?” Bond was smug, but not unaffected, his voice deep and still breathless.

“Are you actually going to fuck me tonight?” Q managed, resting his forehead on his arm as he did his best to thrust back against Bond’s fingers with what little leverage he had.

Bond leaned in, hovering so close to Q that he could feel the heat radiating off of him, could feel his breath in his ear when he spoke. “Are you doing to ask me nicely?”

“I haven’t had to ask for anything else you’ve given me today,” Q said, looking up to find Bond’s face as near as he’d expected. He pushed his mouth to Bond’s in a slick, open kiss, licking the oily taste of lube off of Bond’s tongue. “Will you _please_ fuck me, you absolute fucker?”

With a huff of a laugh, Bond pressed his forehead affectionately to Q’s. “How can I say no to such a sweet request?”

Q found himself on his back before he realized what had happened, bemused and eagerly lifting his hips for the pillow Bond wanted to slide under them. Then Bond was lining up the head of his cock, resting it there at Q’s opening without pushing in, teasing him in a way that had him clenching down around nothing.

“James, _please,”_ Q was practically whining, he knew, and couldn’t bring himself to care as he tossed one leg over Bond’s hip and grasped at his shoulders with shaking fingers.

Perhaps those had been the magic words, as Bond finally pressed in, in, in. Q arched up, moaning as Bond slid home in one sure motion. “Oh, _God,”_ he groaned out when Bond was buried in him up to the hilt.

“Call me James, darling,” Bond murmured against Q’s throat, then stole his exasperation by biting down on the juncture of his neck and pulling his hips back.

He fucked Q in long, slow strokes, pulling out to the head and pushing all the way in every time, rocking in a smooth rhythm that Q did his best to follow. Every few thrusts, Bond would catch Q’s prostate and Q would cry out at the sparks of sudden pleasure, a noise Bond would echo more quietly when Q would squeeze down on him in turn.

It was good, so good, Q could feel every thrust stretching him at his core, giving him the base and visceral pleasure he wanted, and Q knew that if he could just get a hand on his cock, he’d pop off like a cork.

But Bond apparently had other plans.

“Ah-ah,” Bond half scolded, catching Q’s hand by the wrist before he could so much as brush against his prick.

Q groaned, frustrated this time as Bond grabbed his other hand and stretched his arms above his head, holding them there in a firm grip. “Just like this,” Bond said, echoing Q’s earlier words. “I want you to come just like this, without a hand on you. Just my cock.”

“You’ll— _ah_ —have to work a bit harder, then,” Q teased him, clenching down hard just to feel the gritty drag of Bond’s cock inside of him, to hear Bond’s hoarse groan while he did it.

“Harder?” Bond asked, stilling for a moment and giving Q a sharp grin that only ever meant trouble. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

His next thrust punched the breath from Q’s lungs, and the next brought a sound out Q hadn’t even known he could make. Bond released Q’s hands and instead grabbed him by the hips, changing the angle so that he could grind against Q’s prostate with every thrust.

“Oh!” Q gasped, taken by the shocks of pleasure that shivered all the way down to his toes. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yesyes _yes_ – _AH!”_

Q came with what his pride would not allow him to label as a scream, but probably was. Bond didn’t let up, continuing to pound into him as Q’s cock pulsed and dripped against his belly, until the pleasure was so sharp it was sitting on the razor edge of pain, until Q was wet-eyed and gasping with the overstimulation, then pulled him close and came deep inside his body, burying a shout in the side of Q’s neck.

They laid there for a while, catching their breath, wallowing in the skin to skin contact and the warm, buzzing feeling of well-worked muscles and a really good orgasm. Q hummed deep in his chest, nearly a purr of contentment, and turned to catch Bond’s mouth in a kiss. “That was lovely,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse. “Is this going to be our entire holiday?”

“I thought we might try a different position tomorrow.” Bond grinned down at Q as Q huffed out a short laugh. “But these were essentially my plans, yes.”

“Hmm.” Q sighed, wrapping his arms around Bond’s shoulders. “I approve.”

“I’m glad.” Bond pressed a kiss to Q’s temple before easing out of him, patting Q’s hip when he grimaced with the feeling.

They made use of a damp flannel Bond had brought from the bathroom, now a bit cold but perfectly serviceable—“You really did think of everything, didn’t you?” Q teased as they cleaned up—before settling in comfortably on the somewhat rumpled nest of blankets, warm and sated in front of the fire.

Yes, Q decided muzzily as he curled closer to Bond and pulled one of the blankets more tightly around them, he could get used to relaxation.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/186473839503/relaxation-what-a-sensation-james-bond-00q)!


End file.
